


The Sin of Ambition

by ponticle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bittersweet, Budding Love, Developing Relationship, Diary/Journal, F/F, Mages, Orlais (Dragon Age), POV First Person, POV Third Person, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22755058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponticle/pseuds/ponticle
Summary: On her seventeenth birthday, Anora is sent to stay in Orlais to improve relations.---
Relationships: Anora Mac Tir/Vivienne
Comments: 19
Kudos: 21





	The Sin of Ambition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [little_abyss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/gifts).



> @little_abyss and I miss writing (and each other); so we're doing our own prompt swaps. This is the first of that endeavor. 
> 
> We each had three pairings and three one-sentence prompts to choose from, with two weeks to do the writing. 
> 
> My chosen prompts were:  
> Anora x Vivienne  
> "Look," [x] says. "The rain's stopped." [Y] looks up, out of the window; that means it's almost time to go.

* * *

## 9 Bloomingtide, 9:20 Dragon

Well, it happened. My father finally sent me away. I knew he would; it was only a matter of time since I expressed my _extreme displeasure_ with the current situation… and what better day to do it than the day I turn 17? Thanks, dad.

...I’m not going to get into it — I hate to even give it a name… besides, I’ve wasted enough time on it already. It’s _done_. I have to accept it. I’m going to be a queen — that’s good, isn’t it? ...something I’ve wanted…?

One thing about growing up in Ferelden is that it builds character… and I’ve never lived anywhere else.

* * *

The world outside blurs — trees and underbrush a swirling myopia of rich green. If Anora didn’t feel so miserable, she might think it was beautiful. Instead, all she can see is the endlessness of it — the interminability. That’s what her life is now — a march toward inevitability. She wonders, ‘ _Is it the beginning of something if one can already see the end_?’ She shakes her head at the thought. It’s the kind of thing she’d normally write down in her journal, but even _that_ seems unpalatable.

Sleep crawls into the edges of her vision and before she knows it, everything stops.

“ _Miss_?” says someone.

A hand is on her shoulder and she blinks against the heavy sleep of riding in a carriage. A pair of smiling eyes and a bushy beard: it’s the driver.

“We’re here,” he says.

She remembers herself, straightening in her seat. “Thank you.” Her back is stiff from sleeping in a corset and she strains against it, drawing herself up to her full height.

The driver bows low and moves to the back of the carriage to collect her trunks. Anora didn’t pack them herself, which feels odd. She’s not used to the pomp and circumstance that betrothal brings, politically speaking — yet; she _will_ be… she’ll have to adapt. Despite the betrayal she feels — the anger she isn’t allowed to express — Anora is _committed_ : to her family, to Ferelden, to responsibility.

* * *

## 10 Bloomingtide, 9:20 Dragon

I arrived last night — it was already dark when the carriage pulled up outside. The driver left all my trunks with the staff, but I haven’t seen them yet. I’m glad I remembered to bring some essentials with me in the carriage. I don’t know what else I’d be doing, if not writing. Playing with _dolls_ , maybe? Ha. I’m kidding. There’s a terrifying set of porcelain-faced dolls in my room; they look possessed.

It’s not a horrible place, though — all things considered. There’s a fresh sheet of snow outside; that’s nice. It’s not the kind of snow we get in Ferelden; it’s fluffier… cleaner, maybe? I’ve never liked the _idea_ of Orlais, but so far the reality is better.

...I’m not sure where I was going with any of that. I think I’m exhausted. I can’t imagine why, though — I slept the whole way here. It’s got to be the stress. I can’t let it get to me. I’ve got a big day ahead of me — a big few weeks… a big _who-knows-how-long_. It’s only just beginning.

When King Maric explained all this — the good will I have to sow… the way I’m ‘integral to relations’ now… I thought it meant he trusted me. But now, I’m not so sure… I think a part of him just wanted to get me out of the way so I wouldn’t understand the eventuality of my predicament. A queen should have _power_ — but with Cailan… he’s never going to help me become who I should be… who I’m _capable_ of becoming.

...I know Maric is a good king, but he never wanted to do it; everyone knows that. Cailan is exactly the same — no ambition. And I know that The Maker says ambition can be tantamount to a sin, but I have it _in_ me, just the same.

* * *

In the morning light, she notices the room for the first time; it’s opulent, but cold — just like she imagined an Orlesian castle would be. The masked attendants carrying her trunks file in one after the other, like the saddest parade. Nervously, she turns toward the window and takes a long breath. Although she can’t see their expressions, she doesn’t want to look. Already, she feels complicit in their subjugation.

“Have you been given a tour of the grounds yet?” asks someone over her shoulder.

Anora turns, a little surprised. She didn’t know anyone had come in. That’s when she sees _her_ — tall, cool and strong, alarmingly full of confidence. Anora feels _dumb_ — her mouth fills with spit and she can’t seem to breathe.

The woman raises an eyebrow expectantly. “Are you all right?”

Anora clears her throat. “No,” she blurts. The woman’s eyes narrow. “I mean… yes… I’m all right; thank you… but I haven’t had a tour; I only just arrived last night.”

“Well, I’m glad I stopped by when I did, then.” She smiles. “I’m Vivienne.”

 _Vivienne_. The name echoes in Anora’s mind — like something she dreamed, but can’t quite remember. She knows that everyone she meets here has the potential to be someone important — and this _feels_ important, but Anora can’t tell if that’s intuition or something else…

* * *

## 19 Bloomingtide, 9:20 Dragon

I think I want to be Vivienne when I grow up. (You can laugh… future self…)

Seriously, though, I want to find ways to harness that kind of power. She is at once aloof _and_ delegating. She even does it _to me_! One minute we’re equals: living in the same strange castle — a home away from home — and the next she might as well be my boss… and it takes me a while to realize it has even happened…

She’s smart; that’s what.

...and although I’m still furious about all this — being here — having her around might just be something important… something I’ll remember when I take the throne.

* * *

“Do you need anything else, miss?” asks a servant.

“No, I’m fine,” answers Anora. “Thank you.”

The servant nods and retreats toward the door, walking backward. The last thing Anora sees, before she disappears, is the long, pointed nose of her mask. She turns toward her desk to organize some quills and paper, but hears a sound and turns back.

“You really should lock your door,” says Vivienne. She clicks the latch closed behind her.

“Well, then I wouldn’t have lovely random visitors, like you, would I?” Anora laughs at her own joke, although she doesn’t think it’s very funny.

Vivienne steps into the room and asks, “What are you working on?”

Anora follows her gaze to the mess of papers, spread out over her desk.

“Oh…” Anora rolls her eyes. “I’m writing to Cailan… trying to…”

Vivienne nods. “I see. And how is that going?”

“Not great…” admits Anora.

“Do you have a strained relationship with him?” asks Vivienne.

“No, it’s not that.” Anora pauses, trying to think of what it _is_ , actually. “I think… I think it’s just a lot of pressure… now… that we’re _supposed_ to be something… act a particular way?”

Vivienne nods again, but instead of saying anything else, she walks past Anora and directly toward the writing desk, pushing the papers aside until she can read them. Anora would normally be affronted by the obliteration of privacy, but she finds herself transfixed by the way Vivienne’s long fingers gently touch the pages, the way her eyes scan from word to word.

“This is all wrong,” says Vivienne, without looking up from the page.

“What?”

She turns back toward Anora. “It’s _wrong_ — too conversational… try it again, but more professionally.”

“Professionally?” Anora scoffs. “We’re getting married…” She almost continues, but the last word catches in the back of her throat; it’s the first time she’s put it in such frank terms.

“Politically married,” corrects Vivienne. “It’s the same as going into business.”

Anora shrugs.

“Start it again, but think of him as an investor you want to impress,” suggests Vivienne.

“Why?”

“Because your intention was good… you _should_ write to him.” Vivienne takes a step closer to Anora and smiles, somewhat mischievously, “...but it doesn't have to be this painful…”

“It’s not _painful_ ,” says Anora, but it _is_ — that’s why she hasn’t finished.

“All right… whatever you say.” Vivienne pushes an imaginary sheet of dust off the lap of her dress as demonstrative punctuation, and walks toward the door. “See you tomorrow.”

...and just like that, she’s gone… but Anora still feels her presence after she’s left… while writing her letter and signing her name, not just as _A_ : _Sincerely, Anora Mac Tir._

* * *

## 3 Justinian, 9:20 Dragon

Okay, I know I haven’t done a good job of keeping up with this journal. Normally I’m much better at it, but I’ve been _busy_. I don’t have time to go through all of it — or the interest, frankly — so I’ll just start from today.

Vivienne says it’s our job to welcome the ambassador from The Free Marches, but I know that means she wants me to entertain his kids while she works on some kind of angle. She’s only five years older than I am; you’d think she was my _aunt_ , the way she treats me sometimes —

...but still...

Vivienne and I have become… something… friends? Not _exactly…_ but we’re getting closer all the time. And I like her — the idea of her — but her personality makes her hard to _know_. She has really mastered regal detachment, I think. It’s something she says I’ll need to cultivate… in this life I’m going to lead… and I know she’s right, but it feels gauche to put it in those terms. That’s the thing about Vivienne, though; she’s honest — and frank — when it counts.

* * *

“They’ll be here soon,” says Vivienne. She doesn’t turn from the mirror, but speaks to Anora’s reflection. “Let’s go over it again…”

Anora rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t feel any _actual_ annoyance — it’s a kind of play acting that she and Vivienne have perfected in the last month. Vivienne keeps them focused; Anora pretends she doesn’t like to be bossed around… she _does_ , though; at least when it’s Vivienne who does it.

Vivienne folds her arms across her chest. “Come on, it won’t do to have you forgetting the children’s names when they arrive — calling Bertrand _Alexis_ or vice versa.” She laughs, high and musical. It’s the kind of theatrical laugh that Anora thinks is utterly fake, but she doesn’t know for whose benefit Vivienne is doing it.

“Fine… there’s Alexis — she’s four,” says Anora, beginning to pace, but not losing eye contact with Vivienne in the mirror. “Bertrand is six… and Floria is eight — nine?”

Vivienne nods. “Nine.”

“Great… now can we please go?” Anora whines.

Vivienne finally turns around. “Not like this.” She looks Anora over, disapprovingly, up and down. “You’re wrinkled.”

“Oh…” Anora steps toward the mirror and peers at herself. “I think it’s fine… the kids won’t care; they’re four, six, and nine… remember?” She laughs, but Vivienne doesn’t.

“Come here…” Vivienne is suddenly right behind her, reaching around her waist to adjust the odd bow and pleat.

Anora freezes, arms suspended in midair. The air in the room has gone still, except the soft, inadvertent, breath on the back of her neck. In the mirror, they’re almost exactly the same height — Anora might be half an inch shorter — but Vivienne has such a presence… it gives her the advantage that six more inches might.

“There you are,” says Vivienne. She smiles at Anora in the mirror. “Très bon, oui?”

Without knowing why, Anora turns suddenly, bringing them almost nose to nose. Vivienne adjusts her footing, but doesn’t back up.

“Thank you,” says Anora. A breath catches in the back of her throat and she pauses. Something feels tenuous; she defaults to a joke: “I’m sure it will make a _substantial_ impact on the children…”

Vivienne nods slowly, then smiles. “I know you think you’re very funny, but I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss that idea; one never knows when a small gesture might make _all_ the difference.”

* * *

## 4 Justinian, 9:20 Dragon

Something happened last night. I can’t…

[blob of ink]

...explain it. That mess is up there because it took me a full minute to even think back through it… Vivienne was _different_ with me today… kind of… touchy? Which, I suppose, isn’t terribly weird — women are always doing that sort of thing… but something felt...

~~Sometimes I don’t know if I want to be her or if I want to be _with_ her. I know that sounds insane. I’m regretting even writing it down. In fact, forget it.~~

Vivienne is a mentor of mine. It’s normal to look up to her — to admire her… and I _do_.

The Ambassador and his family arrived last night. The dinner went by in a blur, but I managed to remember all the kids’ names… I guess all the practicing helped, after all. Tonight, there’s going to be some kind of performance. For the first time, I’m actually invited to attend it… at least, I _think_ I am… they were talking about it right in front of me. Although you never know with these people — the rudeness is unbelievable… Ha. And they call _us_ mabari...

* * *

“Welcome, esteemed guests,” says the court jester. Anora notices that when he’s between jokes, he’s actually one of the most sane people here. “Tonight, we have assembled some of the most exotic performers in Thedas to entertain, dazzle, and surprise you!” Now his tone has turned vaguely sinister, but Anora likes that even better. She looks around for Vivienne, who is usually just as interested — albeit in a more refined, _repressed_ , way — but doesn’t see her anywhere.

 _She’s going to miss it!_ thinks Anora.

...but then, there’s a flourish of a red cape, and a hush falls over the assembled audience. Someone gasps and the lights in the hall go suddenly dim.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” continues the jester, “May I present, the fairest, but most dangerous of all oddities — from the Montsimmard circle, the youngest fully fledged mage in history and _twice_ as dangerous when left to her own devices — Mademoiselle de Fer.

_What?_

The crowd lets out an audible _ooh_ as Vivienne steps out into the center of the ballroom. The light seems to follow her, although there is no discernible source. Anora stands, dumbfounded, while Vivienne smiles at the crowd. It’s a different kind of smile than Anora is used to seeing on her face — a wild thing that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Now watch as she bends the elements to her will!” shouts the jester. His face seems to change as he speaks; he’s some kind of maniacal mastermind now. Anora hates him, suddenly.

Vivienne doesn’t even look at him, though — she simply raises her hand and pantomimes pulling something up from the floor… no, deeper than that — the _ground_ , the center of the earth. The crowd is enraptured; Anora watches them watching Vivienne… watching her hands, watching the light dance across the floor in front of her, watching the spot where Vivienne draws their eyes… she’s powerful in her misdirection, but Anora’s focus doesn’t move where everyone else’s seems to; Anora is watching Vivienne's face… it’s gone dead.

Suddenly, there’s a crack. It sounds like the marble floor splitting in two and, at first, Anora thinks that’s what it is, but upon closer inspection — it’s something new, something _growing_ out of the floor… it’s ice.

The jester is still talking; Anora can hear him, but only peripherally. As the ice grows into the center of the room — becoming something large and glassy, taking on shape — Anora sees the expression on Vivienne’s face change. It’s still a hardened thing, but there’s effort there, too. A thin sheen of sweat beads across her forehead, under her thick, black braids… in a place that only Anora would know to look.

It’s then that Anora knows — it’s not admiration… not _only_ … it’s something else.

The crowd shrieks collectively. The ice has reached the ceiling; three stories up it begins to expand outward, coating the billowing red fabric that hangs there, freezing it all in place and sparkling in the mysterious light. New tendrils reach out to join it from every corner of the room until the entire audience is encased in a kaleidoscopic gazebo of pure, incandescent ice.

_Silence._

...and a sudden eruption of applause from every corner of the room. Tinkling of glasses, polite clapping, but Anora sees it for what it is: the voyeurism and spectacle of _the other_. Anora looks around the crowd from masked face to face.

And then another collective gasp, more titillated than the first. Anora has missed something — she whirls back toward the center of the room just in time to see Vivienne hit the ground with an audible thud.

* * *

## 7 Justinian, 9:20 Dragon

Vivienne is a _mage_. I can’t believe I didn’t know. But _how_ would something like that come up when she always keeps me at arm’s length… when she’s solely in control of every conversation we have, of everything we do…?

But now that I know, it all makes sense. I didn’t understand _what_ she was doing here at first, but I think I’m beginning to. Emperor Florian is keeping her for something… for entertainment, like a pet. And when he parades me around to these foreign dignitaries as Ferelden royalty — gets me to keep their children busy, more like — I feel it too… in a smaller way, but still... We’re _trapped_ here.

Did Maric know it would be like this? Did he sacrifice me on purpose?

...It’s been two whole days since I saw Vivienne. After the event the other night, the staff took her to her room and she’s been in there ever since. I haven’t tried to visit; what would I say?

‘I missed you’...?

‘I hope you’re all right’...?

‘Why didn’t you tell me what you are’...?

...

Are _what_ and _who_ the same thing? No… not to me…

* * *

The door to Vivienne’s room is shut when Anora arrives. Two guards are standing on either side of its eaves.

“I’m… here to see Vivienne; is she all right?” asks Anora.

The smaller of the two guards grunts something and steps into her path, but the larger one on the right cocks her head to the side.

“What’s she going to _do_?” asks the larger.

The other one grunts again — wordless, but imposing — and then pushes the door open ajar.

“Just a _few_ minutes,” they caution.

As soon as she is past the threshold, it occurs to Anora that she has never been inside Vivienne’s room before. It’s beautiful, an exact replica of what Vivienne is like herself — austere, porcelain, enchanting. The bed is the most perfect example of this — a four-poster canopy, adorned with the most opulent fabrics Anora has ever seen.

Vivienne herself is something different, though, wrapped in a thousand layers of blankets, shivering and sweating.

“Are you okay?” asks Anora quietly. She reaches out to touch Vivienne’s arm, but regrets it halfway through and instead lets her hand rest on the edge of the bed.

Vivienne straightens against her pillows. “I’m fine.”

It’s hard to believe her through the chattering. She looks _ill_.

“I’m just a bit tired, that’s all,” adds Vivienne.

They look at each other silently — staring each other down. Anora fights an incomprehensible urge to crawl into the bed next to Vivienne, to fold Vivienne into her arms and soothe her back to health. Instead, she grits her teeth and forces herself to stay still at Vivienne’s bedside.

“Why did you let them do that to you?” asks Anora.

“Do what?”

“Exploit you…”

Vivienne scoffs. “I don’t let anyone do _anything_ to me.”

Anora purses her lips; it feels like there’s ice in her chest — as cold and solid as the sculpture Vivienne left in the great hall.

“What did you come here for?” asks Vivienne coldly.

“To see if you’re all right,” says Anora.

“...and?”

“And nothing. I... care about you…” says Anora. She instantly regrets it, though, when Vivienne’s expression hardens. She tries to qualify it, “I mean… we’re _alone_ here… we’re… trapped in this foreign tower… we have to look out for each other.”

“I’m _always_ alone in a tower…” says Vivienne.

Anora swallows thickly. When she was younger, she spent a long time studying the circles of Thedas. Her fascination with them was only rivaled by the strength of her horror.

“ _This_ one at least has style…” Vivienne adds, laughing mirthlessly. Then she looks at Anora and smiles — a softer smile than Anora has seen on her face before. “You’re curious; I can see it. Come on. Ask me.”

Anora doesn’t think it’s safe to ask, but she does anyway. “Which circle did you live in?”

“First Ostwick, then Montsimmard,” Vivienne answers.

“Did you always know… that you were…” For some reason, it feels impossible to say the word _mage_ aloud. Anora lets it trail off until Vivienne rolls her eyes.

“Oh my… you sheltered, little dove,” Vivienne says, suddenly flattening the blankets next to her. “Come sit here. It’s time for an education.”

Anora hesitates.

“It’s not contagious,” Vivienne jokes.

Anora climbs gingerly onto the bedspread facing Vivienne, close enough that their knees touch — she’s so warm, even through the covers.

“All right… ask me everything.”

* * *

## 20 Justinian 9:20 Dragon

I think I’m in trouble. I don’t even want to write it down in case someone reads this, but my under-the-mattress-system is working out okay so far… and… I have to tell someone — even if you are _me_.

I’m crazy about Vivienne. I think... I love her. I know, I know — I’m seventeen… love is fleeting at this age… also what _is_ love, anyway? I’m mortified… and yet...

...I think about her all the time. She’s in my dreams; I want to tell her everything I know and share every secret I’ve ever had... I live and die by whether or not she wants to see me on any given day. And she’s beautiful — I mean, of course she is… but… it’s not _only_ that she’s beautiful. It’s that she’s _radiant_ — that all the fierceness and glory inside her can’t help but shine out and make the outside of her even more incredible than it already was.

Like I said, I’m in trouble.

It all started that night two weeks ago… when she was still in bed. It took her another three days to fully recover her strength and we stayed together almost the whole time — just talking and laughing and… someone else might say we were like sisters… but this is _not_ the camaraderie of kinship… it’s something deeper… and I’m scared of it, but… I don’t want it to stop.

* * *

Anora steps outside into the fresh air and breathes deeply. The days are getting shorter now, she notices. The sun is just beginning to sink below the tree-line. There haven’t been any visitors to the castle in several weeks — not since Vivienne’s ice sculpture — and Anora is getting used to the relative quiet.

Each night, they walk the grounds together; they talk about poetry and art and politics and the truth of things — the fabric that weaves all people together.

...and Anora is still nervous, still scared to say what she feels… but she can’t deny it anymore. Standing beneath the great branches of an oak tree, looking out into the rolling hills and fields of Orlais, she makes herself a promise: she’s going to be brave someday soon.

Almost the moment she has decided, she hears footsteps over her shoulder and she knows they’re Vivienne’s before she even looks.

“Hi,” she begins to say, “How are—” But her words dry up when she sees Vivienne’s expression. It’s cold, guarded. “What’s happening?”

Vivienne shakes her head gently and extends her hand. “You’ve had a missive.”

“What is it?” asks Anora. She takes the letter into her hand and flips it over. It’s sealed with Maric’s stamp.

“Well, I certainly haven’t _read_ it,” says Vivienne. “I’m not a philistine.” She laughs a little, but not hard.

Anora nods and rips it open. Her heart sinks.

“Well?” asks Vivienne.

Anora blinks three times, discovering only then that she’s near to tears. “It’s the King… he… he um… has arranged my marriage.”

Vivienne nods. “I see.”

Anora’s mind races; she can feel her pulse in her neck and a roiling in her gut.

“He’ll expect you back soon, then?” asks Vivienne. Her head tips gently to the side, sending a swath of braids over one eye.

“I’m to set out this week.”

Vivienne nods again, just one curt flick of her head and a flexing in her jaw.

“Come with me,” blurts Anora.

“ _What?_ ”

“Come with me! To Ferelden,” says Anora. She reaches out and takes both Vivienne’s hands into her own, letting the letter fall onto the ground between them. “It’ll be better than this. Maric will take good care of you.”

Vivienne’s expression softens, and she blinks slowly. “I’m not at liberty to choose where I end up, Little Dove…”

Anora shakes her head, thoughts spinning wildly. Just a moment ago she was going to _do_ something about this — to be brave and bold and… now everything’s ruined. She feels Vivienne’s grip starting to fade and at the last second, before they lose contact, she hurls herself forward into Vivienne’s space, and kisses her. It’s sloppy and slightly misaligned, but it feels like nothing she’s ever felt before. And for the milliseconds that they’re connected and her eyes are shut she thinks everything is going to be all right...

“ _What_ are you doing?” snaps Vivienne, pulling her head away fiercely.

Anora recoils, suddenly embarrassed and deflating fast.

But Vivienne doesn’t back away. She stops — dead still and silent.

“What… _what_ … are you thinking?” breathes Vivienne.

Anora is going to answer her — the excuses form in her mouth, behind the dam of her teeth, but just as she takes a breath of preamble, Vivienne shakes her head; she closes her eyes and laughs bitterly.

“This is the _worst_ idea…” she breathes.

Anora bites her bottom lip. “It’s not an _idea_ so much as something I’ve been avoiding for weeks…” It’s embarrassing; she feels exposure curling its talons into her gut.

“Nevertheless…” Vivienne blinks a few times, looking down at the ground. “I’m sorry already…”

Anora squints, cocking her head to the side and leaning to get into Vivienne’s line of sight. “ _I’m_ not.”

Vivienne’s gaze snaps up and she laughs, looking a little wild. “Well, that’s all right, then…” She rolls her eyes and squirms, looking uncomfortable — uncharacteristically unsure. “Fine,” she says finally, gripping Anora’s hands tighter. “...but let it be known that I declared this ‘the worst’ _before_ it all fell apart…” She smiles sadly, slowly inching toward Anora’s face until their noses brush. “The _worst_ …” she repeats, kissing her.

* * *

## 20 Justinian, 9:20 Dragon

The rain started the morning after I got Maric’s letter; it’s been pouring ever since. Vivienne and I heard it before the sun rose… we woke up together in her bed... at that time, it was the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard… but I think that’s just how Vivienne makes everything seem: _better_.

And the rain, in this case, actually _is_ better, too, because it means that the coach can’t make it down the hill and across the river, whose banks have flooded. It’s a reprieve…

* * *

“Look, the rain’s stopped,” says Vivienne, turning to look out the window, fatalism apparent on her face. Anora winces. “That means it’s almost time to go.”

“Stop saying that.” Anora raises her hand to Vivienne’s cheek, thumb lingering at the edge of her lower lip.

Vivienne tries to pull her head away, but Anora holds her still, reaching out with her other hand, fixing Vivienne in place — their eyes only inches apart.

“You’re the smartest person I know,” adds Anora. “You have a plan for _everything_.”

Vivienne huffs out a breath derisively. “I’m not… you _know_ I’m not…”

“— fine, so make a change then; stand up with me now!” says Anora. The sound of her own voice surprises her — it sounds wild, unhinged, but she _means_ every word. “C’mon, Viv… this is your chance; it’s not too late... this is… this is ridiculous.” On the last word, her voice wavers. It isn’t until she feels the tears threatening that she realizes she’s close to crying; it scares her. Anora drops her hands from Vivienne’s face and wraps them around her chest tightly.

“Anora…” says Vivienne quietly. “My little dove…” She reaches out to rest a hand on Anora’s knee. “You haven’t been alive very long yet… but surely you already know: _everything_ ends.”

Anora grits her teeth defiantly, but does not say anything. The silence feels strangling, but she likes it better than what she knows is coming next; she can hear the resignation in Vivienne’s tone.

“ _Everything_ ,” repeats Vivienne. “...but that doesn’t make it count any less.”

Anora swallows thickly. In the seventeen years she’s been alive, she’s never had to make a more important argument, she thinks, and yet she hasn’t a clue what to say — in the most poignant of all moments so far.

“Come here,” says Vivienne. She opens her arms and waits, still as a statue.

Anora hesitates, but the pull is so strong — she flings herself into Vivienne’s arms and buries her face in one soft shoulder.

“It’s all right,” says Vivienne. She’s shushing — like one does for an infant — but Anora doesn’t stop her. She’d listen to _anything_ Vivienne says, as long as she’s saying it _to her._

* * *

## 5th Wintermarch, 9:45 Dragon

Today is an auspicious day, more than most. We have an audience with The Divine.

...and it’s making me think about my life… the path I’ve taken to get here...

As much as my life now affords me freedom — to make choices, to effect change — it’s a prison, too; a prison of intellectual isolation, of strategy and tempered choice. There was a time when I was committed to making quite a different life, ~~a life with Vivienne~~. It’s been a long time since I thought about it, to be honest. The rest of this journal is full of entries about the country, about Alistair, about political strategies… you know that… _~~I~~_ ~~know that~~...?

In the days leading up to this meeting, I’ve been dreaming about her… Vivienne... Yes, I know; she has a new name now, but that doesn’t stop me thinking of her as _Viv_ … twenty-two years old, with blazing dark eyes and that wild braided hair… how it covered her left eye when she bowed her head… the delicate way she wrapped it around her neck.

…

There’s a reason I don’t let myself think about this… but she’s going to be here _today…_ and if not now, when?

* * *

The court is entirely full to bursting, twenty minutes before the trumpeters begin to herald her arrival. It’s not every day that something like this happens and the country is alight with anticipation, despite the weather — a thunderstorm buffets the castle from every side.

Next to her, Alistair drums his fingers on the arm of his throne in nervous syncopation. Normally, she would find it unnerving, but today it feels like a tether to reality — something that happens in her every day life, as unusual as that life sometimes is.

The doors burst open suddenly, just as a thunderclap erupts outside, shaking the stone beneath their feet. The crowd jumps to attention.

...and there she is — looking just as radiant as ever, but more powerful than Anora could have imagined.

Vivienne walks slowly toward the thrones, ensconced in white fabric and flanked by myriad advisors. When she reaches the step, just before the thrones, she stops. In the silence, Anora can hear her pulse in her neck almost as loudly as the rain outside, but she forces herself to stay still and quiet.

“Welcome, Your Holiness,” says Alistair. Anora can see him bow his head in her periphery.

“Thank you,” says Vivienne.

Her voice sounds exactly the same to Anora — calm, but solid… substantive.

“...and thank _you_ , Your Majesty,” says Vivienne, suddenly turning. “It’s been a long time…”

A murmur runs through the crowd: _questions_ , but Anora takes a silent, steadying breath and smiles in her practiced way. “You’re very welcome… we’re honored to have you here, and we hope you’ll feel welcome to stay… at least…” she hesitates, “...until the rain stops.” Her smile widens; she feels it on her face: childish… _true_...

Vivienne smiles, too.

THE END


End file.
